Dark Spirits
by Victoria Squalor
Summary: The curse would have killed him, had Aurora not taken the force of the blow. Now Hook's once simple quest for vengeance transforms into a dark night of the soul as he seeks to revive her, at a price that may cost him his life. (Hook/Aurora, Mulan/Phillip; prequel to Sirens. AU AS OF 2x08)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is more in line with my "dark" oeuvre, but fear not, I'll be putting out more fluff shortly. It's sort of a prequel to Sirens, referring to the sacrifice Aurora made for Hook, and it reads like a fragment of a larger story, which it basically is, but I have a hard time structuring plots and writing things in proper order. I'm a character writer at heart, anyway =B  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own OUAT or related Disney properties, although I could make a few suggestions for additional villains...

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**Dark Spirits**

by Victoria Squalor

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They had moved Aurora into the pawnshop. Despite his and Mulan's initial objections, Snow had insisted it was perfectly safe, and besides, they'd all take turns standing watch over her to make sure nothing else happened—as if there were so many worse things that could.

Killian hated it. Amidst the trinkets and toys, the clunky furnishings and pointless dust-collectors, she looked like an ethereal statue, sparkling as if she'd been coated in diamond dust, glowing ever so faintly with the aura of magic that kept her in this state. Like a rare and valuable sculpture, only missing an exorbitant price tag. It was sickening.

But not half as sickening as the truth of the matter, or the way it made him feel.

He'd told her half a dozen times if he'd told her once, to butt out of his business, of his right to vengeance for Milah and his severed hand. She'd shook her head at him, sadly. _Vengeance…there was a time I cried for vengeance, and called it justice. If you did slay the Dark One, Killian, what would that gain you? _

_Satisfaction, Your Highness, _he'd replied coldly. _If you're quite done with the morality lecture…you look a bit peaky. Perhaps you should take a nap._ The blood drained from his face at the mere memory of the words.

Damn it, she had no _right _to barge in like that. He'd been fully prepared to die, after that treacherous slag Cora had just abandoned him there with her former master—ready to die like a man, at least. The sound of Aurora's voice shrilly calling his name had disoriented him; he hadn't seen anything but a blur before him, before the blast of dazzling light that shattered all around him into tiny embers, followed by an eerie, deafening silence. And when his eyes finally came back into focus, he beheld her in a state of confusion, as she stood glittering and frozen before him—and behind her, Rumpelstiltskin stood watching too with much the same expression.

And then he'd gotten away. Killian hadn't chased him. His legs hadn't seemed to work at the moment anyway. He couldn't seem to do anything but gape in disbelief at her, a dumbstruck sentry until Mulan and Emma had arrived, the others following close behind.

He'd been here since they'd moved her, despite the women all insisting he needed rest, the one called Ruby rather enthusiastically offering her couch. He hadn't even taken off the black wool peacoat he'd been donning ever since his arrival in Storybrooke, in an attempt to blend in somewhat—although that was more or less negated by his prominent hook. He'd refilled his flask with whatever low-grade dark rum passed for drinkable in this town—barely fit to clean a cut, but he'd been downing it anyway. It wasn't doing much to alleviate his mood.

Nor did Mulan, when she walked in to find him slumping in a chair. She'd barely said a word to him during the whole ordeal, and he had fully expected her to unleash a torrent of righteous fury on him; instead, she only folded her arms over her chest and looked disapprovingly at him.

"What are you doing?" She appeared to have raided Emma's closet, trading in her ornate warrior garb for a basic zippered jacket and black leather trousers, though the sword was still strapped to her back.

Killian raised his flask. "Getting shitfaced, what's it look like? Join me in a spot of rum, warrior maiden?"

Mulan narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, then closed it again. "No, thank you," she finally said, after a moment's hesitation in which she clearly struggled with the words. "I'm not partial to dark spirits."

Her choice of phrasing made him chortle darkly in spite of himself.

"You're supposed to be watching Aurora," Mulan continued, her voice steely. "Not drinking."

"I am watching her. She's right there, see?" He pointed toward the princess, her sparkle no less muted in the dim electric light. "You planning on nipping out tonight, Aurora?" He laughed at his own unanswered comment and took another swig. "Guess we're all staying in, then."

Mulan seized the lapels of his peacoat and yanked him to his feet so quickly that he dropped his flask in surprise, the last trickle of rum seeping onto the floor. _Now, _there's_ the righteous fury, _he thought.

"This must all be very funny to you, pirate," she hissed, her face suddenly an austere and frightening mask. "These silly little notions of love and honor—two things that you couldn't possibly comprehend, no matter how long you live."

Killian felt his mouth twisting into a scowl, ready to protest, but those ferocious dark eyes had him temporarily cowed.

"Aurora's safety has been my responsibility ever since Phillip was taken from us. I have guarded her in his place, as he would have wished, and because of you, I have failed him."

"Because of _me?" _Killian couldn't believe this. "Begging your pardon, _milady_, but I didn't throw her up as a human shield. She ran into the path of that curse of her own accord." The more words that tumbled out of his mouth, the angrier he grew at the stone-still princess._ "_I was _prepared_ to die. The stupid little girl just—"

Mulan cracked him across the face so hard that her knuckles came away bloody. He gaped at her, white-hot pain seeping into his nose, feeling not so much outraged as that he had deserved it—most of all from her.

"That stupid little girl," Mulan went on evenly, as if she had not just given him a nosebleed, "saw something in you that was apparently worth saving. I can't imagine what, although I suspect you hoodwinked her into seeing it—through smooth words and deceit, the same way you obtain everything else."

Killian snorted derisively, although inwardly he was cringing at the memory of the last thing he'd said to Aurora. _Quite the antithesis of smooth, actually._

"More than anything, though, I can't accept that she'd throw away Phillip's sacrifice for a common blackguard like you—much less that she would try to imitate it." A shadow passed over her face. "She had no right. He didn't make that sacrifice for her alone."

Killian was desperate to change the subject, if only to divert his thoughts for a moment. "This, uh, thing with…Phillip? Am I to take it there were three of you in this relationship? Sounds a bit kinky—not in a bad way, mind you."

Mulan regarded him coldly. "I traveled with Phillip a long time before we found Aurora. It is…natural to develop feelings for a close companion and brother in arms. But I also understood that he had a destiny to fulfill—to free her from her curse, to wed her, to reign at her side. I knew that going in. None of it mattered. I…I loved him, yes. But I did not covet him. His happiness was paramount, and that happiness lay with Aurora. And it would have, if…things had happened differently." Her smoky topaz eyes grew distant, no longer focusing on his face. "Before the wraith took him, he turned to us…but he did not face us. His last words were 'I love you'. He did not mean that for his betrothed alone. It was a gift to both of us…as was his sacrifice. It was done out of love."

He stared at her, speechless. Mulan looked as surprised as he did at herself for divulging it all. She abruptly tore her gaze from his and released his coat, pushing him away. As she did she caught sight of the tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve. "Is that a tribute, pirate? To someone you have lost? Loved?"

"Yes," he answered shortly, unwilling to spill as much as she had. He was already starting to sober up.

"Would you have given your life in her place?"

Killian remained silent, remembering how he'd watched the Dark One sink his hand into Milah's chest as if it were made of putty. Had he not been restrained, what would he have done? Thrown himself in the way? It would have made little difference; they'd have both been killed.

"I thought as much," Mulan said, after a moment's pause. "Then you did not love her. Not really. You failed her, and now you have failed Aurora."

"But I don't—" _I don't love Aurora, _was what he intended to say, but the words stuck fast to his tongue and would not come out. He didn't understand why. The princess and her tiresome night terrors were so beyond his concern, and yet…she seemed concerned about him _all _the time. He had done nothing, _nothing _to her to warrant that kind of concern, that care, that—

"It doesn't matter if you don't. She loves you." Mulan's words cut him to the quick, sharper than any steel. "You owe her a great debt, pirate, whether you wish it or not. And make no mistake. I _will _see that you repay it." She retrieved the empty flask from where it had fallen on the floor. "Finish your watch and sober up. I'll return to relieve you in the morning." She turned on a heel and swept out of the room without a parting glance, her swirl of raven hair swishing behind her.

Killian stood for a moment in her wake, keenly aware of the volume of his own heartbeat. He turned back to Aurora, closing the distance between them in several long strides, and gazed into that immobile face for a long time.

"Why?" he whispered, cupping her cold cheek in his palm. "Why did you _do _it? I don't—I don't understand you."

Aurora gazed back at him, her aquamarine orbs wide with…_not fear_, he thought. She wasn't afraid, she couldn't have been, to have willingly walked toward what she believed was certain death. His frustration boiled up inside him, pricked hot at the back of his eyes, until he swallowed it back. He didn't know her at all. Who was this princess, who cast aside her mind and sanity for a kingdom, and her life for a cowardly codfish of a pirate?

_She loves you. _The warrior woman's words still stung, though the sting did nothing to silence the howl of protest that rose up inside.

_She can't love me. I've done nothing to earn it. She _can't_._

He tried to picture her gallant Prince Phillip, his imagination conjuring some fresh-faced, clean-cut strapping lad on a snow-white steed, all nobility and poise and gilded armor. A man befitting this fragile and yet strangely resilient rose, one who would eagerly go to war in her name, who would just as eagerly have his soul sucked out to keep her safe.

"And you went from that to a filthy pirate," he said aloud. "Your standards have taken quite a nosedive, Princess."

Killian wished more than anything at that moment that his words would incense her enough to melt this magical frost, that she would spring to life at once and start screaming at him, calling him blackguard and scoundrel and coward and any other host of names, even that she would bloody his painfully sore nose even further. But she remained still as death, her face permanently fixed in an expression of crystalline anguish.

_If only I could do as your prince did…kiss you and make everything better. _He pondered it a moment. _Well, why not? Can't hurt._

He stroked her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, watching her marble-hard skin glisten in its wake. "Forgive my impetuosity, Your Highness," he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips to hers.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Writing this is keeping me sane at the moment, I just wish I had more hours in the day to write...

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As he kissed her unyielding lips, an odd, almost warm tingling sensation numbed his own, one that made his heart leap into his throat. _Is that all it takes? _He stepped backward with a jolt, watching her carefully for any signs of movement.

"Won't work, loverboy. She's not _sleeping_, she's a rock."

Startled, Killian spun around. The intruding voice belonged to a short, squat woman of indeterminate age, her lined eyes and apple-round cheeks offering conflicting evidence. Her unkempt hair was mottled orchid, almost silvery in spots, and she wore a shabby sweater coat that appeared to have been pieced together from long strips of old blankets, striped in lurid hues of pink and purple.

He had the uneasy feeling he knew her from somewhere, but his memory wasn't immediately providing any clues.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded, feeling both embarrassed at his clumsy attempt at curse-breaking and irritated that she had been standing there watching him.

The dumpy woman smirked. "Front door? It's open, you know. If you mean before that, I came from my house. I heard something _horrible _had happened, so naturally I had to come see for myself."

Killian's irritation swelled, as did his suspicion. "You've seen it," he said curtly. "Now go away."

"Now, now, lad, that's no way to address an elder," she chided him in an annoying tone. "Especially one you've got history with."

His lip was starting to curl in exasperation, but partly because he _knew _she was right and could not figure how. _It's that voice, _he realized_. That maddening, mocking voice of hers._

She sniffed, her nostrils flaring. "Forgotten me already, have you, Jones? Well, I forgot me, too, until a little while ago. Part and parcel of getting condemned to this insipid slice of suburbia—and I was minding my own business. I wasn't even invited to that damn wedding, but I got stuck at the reception anyway." Her smile was shocking pink and sour as curdled milk. "And now it appears you have, too. But you still don't know your Auntie Mim when you see her."

_Mim. Of course. Nobody else was ever able to set my teeth on edge in quite the same way. _"Forgive me, Madam," Killian said stiffly, "but it's been a while." _The mother of all understatements. _He had not seen Mim since childhood, before he'd stowed away on the _Wicked Wench _at eleven years old—and frankly, could have done without seeing her ever again. She was not his "aunt" in any sense of the word, but a village hedge witch whom he'd stolen from when he was homeless and starving—and had been put at the mercy of her black magic as punishment.

He wasn't sure if he'd blotted out most of the memories of his indentured servitude to her or if she had done that herself, but some of them hovered on the edge of his memory, so ludicrous they felt more like dreams. Being bestowed with an ass's ears and tail if he was too slow fetching firewood, or getting dunked repeatedly in the rain barrel if he failed to add the "Madam" to the beginning of her name. That had actually served him well later in life as a pirate; he'd suffered it so many times that he was able to hold his breath longer than most.

"Indeed. I hear you made something of a name for yourself as a thief—very impressive, as I recall you weren't particularly good at it. Stole Rumpel's wench right out from under him—and then lost her and the hand too, and then swam off like a little codfish to play amongst the Lost Boys." Mim crowed all this in a very self-satisfied voice that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. "And now I find you putting the moves on petrified princesses."

Killian counted to ten as he tried to control his breathing. "I—wasn't—"

"I know you weren't." Mim scratched suddenly at a spot behind her ear, the way a dog might scratch its fleas. "You were trying to break the curse. A bit of advice, my boy, for the magically impaired such as yourself: that's going to require something far more powerful than a kiss." She sidled up to Aurora, peering at her sorrowful countenance with a sneer. "This isn't your standard off-the-shelf curse. For one thing, it backfired. It was meant to _destroy_ you—reduce you to crispy cinders, had she not bumbled into the way. Magic designed to kill often behaves unpredictably when it's confronted with a willing sacrifice. Or _love, _as fools and bards like to call it." Her chuckle made plain her opinion of this notion.

Killian narrowed his eyes, although that odd, tingly flush he'd felt earlier was spreading through him again. "How do you break it?"

"Well, for starters, you need someone particularly skilled in transformation."

"I seem to recall you being rather good at that yourself." _Can't hurt to butter up the old bat, _he mused. She'd routinely turned herself into everything from pink foxes to purple dragons, just for kicks, and had been fond of doing the same to him—although she had tended to fashion him into small, defenseless things that were easy for her to pounce on.

"Oh, you're making me blush, boy." Mim fanned herself with a hand. "Yes, indeed. I _could _break the curse, if I cared to."

"But you won't." His lower lip curled in displeasure.

"How perceptive. No, I won't. And since I can already see you getting your breeches in a twist, I'll tell you why. First of all, undoing a bungled curse is tricky business. It's better off being un-bungled by the one who cast it. You leave it to a third party, you risk a disappointing outcome. Not that I care what happens to the silly bint—" she tapped Aurora on the head, which made Killian grimace "—but I take it you're sweet on her, so make of that what you will."

"That's out of the question," Killian said flatly. Even if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't up and vanished into thin air—he'd probably found some way into another realm by now—he had no intention of begging the man who'd caused all his troubles to grant him this small favor. What would he even _say_ to the vile trickster, if he had the chance? _Look, I know we were just trying to kill each other and all, but could you please unfreeze Aurora, because I think I've got a chance with her? By the way, terribly sorry about running off with your wife and all._

"Suit yourself." Mim shrugged. "Which brings me to my second point. Unsticking Her Highness here won't come cheap. And I don't do favors or work for free. I'd require a substantial payment."

_Oh, here we go._ He'd been expecting this part. "What is it you want for payment? My heart in a box? My eternal soul?" _Unlikely, _he thought sardonically, _but she might not say no to a Killian on strings, like old times._

Mim cackled, her sticky pink mouth splitting open in a sinister grin. "You _do _think much of yourself, boy. You think you're a sufficient prize? Well, maybe you are; she seemed to think so, no? Let's ask her." She tapped on Aurora's diamond-hard chin with one long violet nail. "What say you, Your Highness? Is he worth it? What's he got packing down there, anyway? I must confess, his reputation has me curious."

Killian gritted his teeth harder, his nails clenched so hard into his palm that they were beginning to draw blood.

"Hm. Seems she's not the type to kiss and tell, eh? But no, lad, you're not sufficient enough a reward for me. There's only one man I'm interested in, and he's a bit greyer than you. Got a proper beard too, none of this silly peach-fuzz." She reached up to ruffle the scruff on his neck. He recoiled.

"Merlin, you mean?" Killian snapped. "Nice try, Mim, but you'd have better luck sending me to retrieve a bucket of steam. Everyone knows that old wizard is long dead—and if he weren't, I'd be seeking his help, not yours."

"Everyone _thinks _he's dead. I know the barmy old coot too well. He's squatting in some hovel in the deep dark woods, mark my words. But be that as it may, if you won't help me, and I won't help you, you'll have to find someone else. That, or keep Her Frozen Highness here as she is. I bet she'd really liven up a dull room. Or maybe you could lash her to the prow of your ship." She put an arm around Aurora's lifeless shoulders and smirked at him.

It was suddenly too much. In the blink of an eye, he snagged the front of her garish duster with his hook and yanked her forcefully toward him. "SHUT UP!" he bellowed into her smirking face, the rum strong on his breath. "GIVE ME A NAME THEN, OR I'LL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH!"

Mim glanced down at her coat, utterly unfazed. "This is _couture_. If you put a lasting hole in this, I'll be very upset."

"Not half as upset as you'll be when I've spilled your innards all over it," Killian snarled. "You may have the upper hand with magic, Mim, but I'm a dangerous man in my own right, and right now I am at my last and most lethal. I am through playing games with you." He leaned in closer, eyes blazing with fury. "If you will not remove Aurora's curse, you will direct me to someone who _will." _

Mim shifted her gaze between his enraged face and the hook poking through her coat, then heaved an exaggerated sigh. "If you want to catch a fish, you'll need a much bigger hook than this."

Killian's face contorted again. If she spouted one more stupid glib remark, he'd turn her into a little pink-and-purple smear across the floor. "What the hell is _that _supposed to m—"

"And if you want to catch an _octopus,"_ Mim continued pointedly, cutting him off, "you'll need something bigger entirely."

Realization dawned on him as he released her. "She…would help me?"

"She seems to be a sucker for the trivial matters of mortal hearts, so perhaps," Mim replied, smoothing down her coat irritably like a bird preening its ruffled feathers. "Best be prepared to pay a steep price, though. Like me, she only works for profit—and unlike me, she _does _invest heavily in human souls." She glanced back at Aurora. "Would you do it, lad? Would you trade your life for hers?"

Killian regarded his old captor's words for a long moment, before he turned back to Aurora. He thought back to the moment he'd found her in Storybrooke, not long after he and Cora had come through. She'd been lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, her fine gown singed and her skin dappled with dark smudges, as if she'd walked through fire to get there—which apparently she had, in some sense, anyway. She'd turned her face up to his, tearstains tracking across her sooty cheeks.

_Hook, _she'd said in surprise, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. _You're all right._

At the time, he'd only allowed himself to wonder about that for a moment. _All right? _All right meant that she had been worried about him since he'd disappeared up the beanstalk. That she'd been thinking about him while he'd been captive in a giant's cage, thanks to the entirely too capable Emma Swan, who, despite his best efforts to win her over with suggestive side-eyes, had been having none of it—_such wasted effort_. He'd found himself wishing that it _had _been Aurora who had accompanied him up the beanstalk, and then he'd remembered her words, words that were so familiar and all the more chilling in hindsight: _I have no loved ones. If I fail, you can still go on._

_And then I had to go and spoil it all by grabbing her and pressing the hook to her throat to keep her quiet,_ he thought dismally. _The first person who cared about you since Milah, and you were too busy croc-hunting to notice, much less care._

His hand traveled up to touch a tiny pendant in the shape of an owl nestled in the hollow of her throat. One of the women, probably Snow or Ruby, had had fun dressing her up after she'd shed her burnt royal rags; they'd instead forced her into some airy lavender frock that stopped above her knees and barely left anything to the imagination. Not that he was really complaining, mind, but it made it all the more maddening that he could touch her bare skin now, and she wouldn't feel a thing.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to touch her now, to _really _touch her…to have her melt into his arms and nestle against his skin…to heal her, to somehow undo the damage he had wrought upon both her body and spirit. _Would you trade your life for hers_? the old hag had asked. _What life do I have to go back to, without her?_

"Absolutely," he said aloud.

"Absolutely…what?" a different voice echoed.

Killian whirled around again, but near where Mim had been standing only moments ago now stood a puzzled-looking Ruby Lucas, clutching some sort of tall metal cylinder between her hands. His brow furrowed. _Typical, Mim. You never were any good at good-byes. _He expected he hadn't seen the last of the dark sorceress for the duration of his visit.

Ruby's eyes widened in surprise, red lips puckering in confusion. "I…ah…just wanted to bring you some coffee, since I knew you'd be up all night watching her." She held out the container, which he hesitantly accepted. The brew smelled bitter and nearly burnt his tongue, but it did clear out the taste of rum, as well as the scattered contents of his head.

"Plus, I _really _needed to get out of the diner," she confessed. "Everyone's decided to hole up there and scream at each other. Half of them are hashing it out over leadership issues, now that we're short a mayor. Regina's gone chasing after Mommie Dearest, wherever she went, plus nobody has _any _clue where Gold is, and I can't find Belle, either. And to top it all off, Granny just checked in a very strange out-of-towner, claiming to know Emma…it's pure chaos over there right now. I had to shut off the beer tap before things got really out of hand."

Killian had only been half listening to her ramble; he'd figured that Cora had jumped another portal, and Rumpelstiltskin too, but he was rather surprised to learn they hadn't gone alone. The matter of bridging the gap between worlds was tricky enough with just one person involved. "Ruby, you wouldn't know a woman in this town named Mim, would you?"

"Mim?" Ruby frowned. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

_Of course she wouldn't use her real name. _"Dumpy woman with purple hair? Hideous housecoat? Highly inappropriate laugh?" Killian suggested.

Ruby pursed her lips in thought a moment, then her eyes lit up. "Mimi, you mean? Mimi Maddox? Yeah, I know _of _her. Really weird chick. Comes in once in a while for spearmint tea and making fun of the regulars. Nobody really knows what her deal is, or who she was back in the old world, either. She's not exactly the sociable type—and I've _never _seen her on a day when the weather wasn't absolutely wretched. You know her? "

_Unfortunately, _he thought. "I did, once," he mumbled into the mouth of the coffee thermos. "Actually, forget her. There wouldn't happen to be any…ah…" he searched for the proper words. "…repugnant old ladies living down by the docks, would there? Or by the shore, perhaps?" He didn't need Mim to sniff out Ursula. _How many old spellcasting crones can one town possibly have?_

Ruby arched one dark eyebrow at him. "Are sure you're feeling all right, Captain? Mulan said you'd had a few."

Killian sighed and staggered back over to his chair, dropping into it. "I'm only trying to figure out how to undo this mess I caused. Especially now as it would appear we have a sorceress shortage."

Ruby's smile was rueful. "Ah. Sorry. I wish I could help you there, but about all I can offer is a nose, if you need to track down anybody. You might want to talk to the others, though, they might be of more use."

He nodded tiredly, feeling doubtful, but not in any mood to contradict. He watched as Ruby tentatively walked over to Aurora and touched the hem of her dress.

"I lent her this one. It was supposed to be red, but they sent the wrong color. I think it suits her much better, though." She smiled a little sadly at the memory. "I tried to help her settle in that first night at the hotel. It was kind of adorable; she was so attached to Mary Margaret, almost like a daughter—although I should say like a _little _daughter, because Emma's not like that—but Aurora felt staying with her would be intruding on her family. I feel bad for her. I've at least got Granny, whether I like it or not. She's…" Ruby bit her lip, and Killian suspected she was holding back the rest of it in deference to him. _Go on, say it. She's got no one._

"You know, I know I offered you my couch, and a fine couch it is, but maybe…you'd be more comfortable staying in Aurora's room?" Ruby ventured. "I mean, uh, not that I'm implying that, er…"

"I'd like that," he said, and lapsed again into silence.


End file.
